


a boy with a thorn in his side

by visiblemarket



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars: Shattered Empire
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, I don't know why I wrote this, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, basically i came up with it on the subway this morning and then it happened so here we are, discussions of the american military, it be like that sometimes, where the period is y'know now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: "You having a good time?" Kes whispers, as he wraps his arm over Cassian's shoulders again. Leans in to hear the answer, and he's so close Cassian can smell his aftershave, the popcorn on his breath."Yes," Cassian answers, knowing that at this moment he could name literally none of the characters of this film nor sketch the basic plot. Kes smiles at him as if he knows this and finds it somehow charming. Leans in even closer, and presses a kiss — soft, sweet — to Cassian's temple.





	a boy with a thorn in his side

"I leave you alone for five minutes and you get recruited by fascists?"

The two fascists in question — a man and a woman in tan shirts and dark blue pants; one brunet and one blonde —  look up at him.  They share a swift, amused smile between them, and there's a quick exchange of raised eyebrows and significant looks. The blonde turns to Kes, who's still pouring through a brochure.

"Who's your friend, Kes?" she teases, toeing the line between sororal and flirtatious. Cassian narrows his eyes, opens his mouth to speak—

"Boyfriend," Kes corrects, thoughtlessly casual. "Cass," he adds, dipping his head toward Cassian but still not looking up. Flips through a folder full of blank forms as seriously as a person can; when that person is Kes, it's very seriously. "I gotta fill any of these out right now?"

"No — ah — not till — you —" the man is struggling, but it's the woman, eyes slightly bugging, who breaks.

"Boyfriend? As in..."

"As in we fuck," Cassian says, quick and vicious — they don't, the most they've done is make out and exchange sloppy handjobs and Cassian still has his doubts they'll ever get further than that, but to hell with it.

Kes finally does look up. Throws him a swift, disappointed glance before schooling his features into a charmingly embarrassed grin. The aw shucks, All American Brown Boy, Perfect Embodiment of the Promise of Diversity face — Cassian loves and hates him for it in equal measure: admires the facade, detests his ease with it, how effective it is.

"Gotta, uh," Kes says, laughing a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "Gotta love a guy who speaks his mind."

"Y'all ain't got to worry about that," says the man, addressing the two of them. “Corps's real tolerant these days. Guy like you, don't matter who you..." he pauses, floundering again. "Just keep your business to yourself, no one's gonna give you shit."

"Girl in my unit brought her wife to the ball last year, everyone thought that was real sweet."

"Wonderful," says Cassian, icily, and prepares to go further, but Kes's second, slightly more severe glare out of the corner of his eye stops him. "Well," he says, cold. "When you're done being _indoctrinated_ —"

Kes gives a quick, sharp nod and waves him off.

Cassian huffs to himself, and goes.

*

A part of him doesn't even expect Kes to actually meet him in front of the theater. He especially doesn't expect him to do so barely ten minutes later, grinning broadly and bounding right up to Cassian to give him a quick peck on the lips. Cassian almost pulls back in surprise, but Kes withdraws before he has to. Pivots, sliding an arm around Cassian's shoulders.

"You ready, babe?"

Cassian nods, still in shock. Kes's brow furrows. "Everything okay?"

"I'm sorry," he blurts, and Kes frowns.

"For...?"

Cassian raises his eyebrows, and Kes nods. "Ah. Well. You got your own opinions, buddy, and you’ve got a mouth on you. 's part of what makes you _you_ . And I like _you_. You know that, right?"

He does, even though he's not entirely sure of why, or for how long it’ll last.

''course it'd be _easier,_ if you didn't go around blowing every good impression I ever try to make —"

"I didn't mean to—"

"But the best things in life ain't easy, y'know?" And he says it as Kes Dameron always says such things, cliche and simplistic as they are — as if he's not only just thought of them but also believes them outright, like they are fundamental to him.

Cassian is, as ever, lost. It's all he can do to nod, offer a weak smile and a concession of his own: "We can see _Guardians_ if you want."

"Yeah?" says Kes, strangely suspicious. "You see the first one?"

He hadn't. He'd read an article about James Gunn's misogyny and homophobia and decided not to bother. He hadn't exactly had anyone to go to the movies with back then, anyway. "We could watch it after." The Dameron's house is full of DVDs, some more legitimately obtained than others, with an organizational schema that calls to mind nothing so much as a cluttered market stall. Cassian can't remember if he's seen that particular one there but he feels the odds are in his favor.

Kes laughs and squeezes his shoulders. "If you say so, man."

*

Kes watches the movie and Cassian, as he tends to do whenever provided the opportunity, watches Kes: his body is taut with excitement, eyes gleaming, lips parted. A spaceship explodes, and Kes lets out an excited, exhilarated whoop — Cassian finds himself smiling, too.

Kes glances over at him.

"You having a good time?" Kes whispers, as he wraps his arm over Cassian's shoulders again. Leans in to hear the answer, and he's so close Cassian can smell his aftershave, the popcorn on his breath.

"Yes," Cassian answers, knowing that at this moment he could name literally none of the characters of this film nor sketch the basic plot. Kes smiles at him as if he knows this and finds it somehow charming. Leans in even closer, and presses a kiss — soft, sweet — to Cassian's temple.

Behind them, someone snickers. Kes pulls away just enough to send a long, steady look back — Cassian can't quite see it (though he imagines it to be the surprisingly effective _got a problem there, buddy?_ face), but also feels a lightening of the weight on his shoulder. Glancing to his left, finds that Kes is using the hand that had been cupping his shoulder to flip whoever it is off.

A nervously joyful giggle quivers through Cassian and is joined by a light snort of Kes's, who pressed his forehead against Cassian's temple for a moment. Cassian turns his head, hoping, and — Kes's lips graze his, quick, tender contact, a glancing hint of tongue. Cassian's heart hammers against his chest and he barely hears the scoff behind them. Cares about it even less.

Kes pulls back.

"Watch the movie," he whispers, grinning, and squeezes Cassian's shoulder again.

And Cassian, well — he tries.

*

Night's fallen by the time they leave the theater. It's not cold, but he shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket anyway.

"You like it?" Kes says, walking next to him — close enough to hold hands if he were to reach out.  

"Yes," he says. "The music was good."

"Even without any Smiths?" Kes teases, nudging his shoulders — Cassian chuckles and nudges back.

"I do like other songs," he says, dropping his gaze.

"Uh-huh,” says Kes, and they reach the pick up. "Wanna come over and watch the first one?"

"It's late."

"You can spend the night," Kes says, smiling. "My parents won't mind, you know that."

He does know that — he wonders if it's why Kes hasn't told them.

"Not tonight."

Kes gives an understanding, slightly disappointed nod. Opens the door for him, automatically chivalrous — Cassian thanks him with a quick smile, and then grabs at his shirt and yanks him down for a kiss.

Kes laughs and gives it to him, then pulls back. "Buckle up," he says, before heading to the driver's side.

"So," Kes says, starting the ignition, chewing at his bottom lip. "Home?"

Cassian should say yes. His heart is lurching and his skin is buzzing with a strange, sick electricity. He should say yes and go home and get some sleep, and then call Kes tomorrow and go over and watch anything he wants to watch.

"Could we just..." he sighs, stares out the window. "Just drive?"

He can feel Kes's gaze on him. After a moment, it passes. "Of course, man. Whatever you want."

*

"You're mad at me."

"I'm not mad—"

"It's all right, though," Kes says, snuggling up behind him on the bed of the pickup. A field of some sort of crop — Kes would know, if Cassian were to ask him — stretches out around them, cast silver in the moonlight. "You're allowed to be mad at me. You're even allowed to not tell me why—"

"I'm not—"

"But I do wanna know. So I'm gonna say some things, and when I get to the one, you're gonna give me a sign, okay?"

Cassian sighs, but doesn't object. Kes grins against the back of his neck and gives him a quick kiss. "Cool. Okay. You mad I ain't tried harder to get along with Kay?"

No one really _gets along_ with Kay — Cassian's the best and maybe only friend he has, and even they get along maybe 50% of the time at most. Besides: "Kay likes you."

"He _what_?"

"He said for a jock with a higher than average chance of incurring traumatic brain injury, you're surprisingly worth talking to."

Kes snorts at that. "Tell him thanks? I guess?"

"Tell him yourself."

Kes laughs and kisses him again.

"You mad I ain't told my parents about us yet?"

Cassian hasn't told his grandparents either — he doubts they'd care, and if they did that'd be an added benefit — but still...

He shakes his head.

"You mad I'm failing Spanish again?"

Cassian twists to look at him. "You're failing Spanish?"

Kes shrugs. "Having trouble with accents."

" _Te ayudo_?" They'd tried it before — it was not a terribly productive half hour, and Kes had done better with a tutor who hadn't kept getting distracted by the way he tended to chew on his bottom lip when thinking things through.

Kes shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. You mad I still hang out with Shara?"

"You can hang out with who you like," he says, as if it doesn't kill him — Shara Bey is beautiful and distantly kind, entirely disinterested in Kes except as a friend, but still: it kills him. Cassian'd thought he'd been more subtle about it, though; wasn't aware Kes had realized.

"You mad—"

"Why did you tell them I was your boyfriend?"

"'cause you are?" Kes sounds confused. "I mean—aren't you?"

"You didn't have to."

"I didn't?" Kes chuckles, and wraps his arms tighter around Cassian's waist. "What would you have done if I hadn't?"

“Oh, that was for _me_?"

"You _are_ mad," he says, surprised, a little confused. "Because I called you my—"

"You don't have to be so obvious."

Kes goes tense behind him, and his tone is sharp when he speaks again: " _Excuse_ me _?"_

Cassian pulls out of his arms. "I know you're all right with this. You don't have to...flaunt it."

“What the _fuck_ does that—“ Kes snaps, and then cringes. Drops his gaze. "Look. Cass. I'm sorry if I — if I made you uncomfortable. I like doin' that stuff. Holdin' your hand, stuff like that, I — with the people I date, it's nice to—"

"With the _girls_ you date."

Kes takes a breath — slow, steadying — before speaking again. "You know I never did something like this with a guy before. Thought it was — thought I was doin' okay. But if you don't like it when I —"

"What's going to happen?"

Kes stills. "What d'you mean?"

"When you join the Marines. What's going to happen?"

"I haven't said I will yet."

"If, then. What happens if—"

"I don't know, I do basic training. I do a few years. Take some classes during — they told me a lot of people do that — and when I come back they'll give me money to go to school, finish up my degree. A lotta people do somethin' like criminology, go into law enforcement, but—"

"So you'll go from imposing American military supremacy on foreign countries to doing it right here?" Cassian stumbles out, accent slipping on the words.

"Are you—are you _serious_ right now?"

Oh, he's serious. He's angry and anxious and frankly baffled that Kes would even _consider—_

Kes sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You agree with everything every communist has ever done?" Kes says.

"I'm not a communist!"

"Socialist, _fine_ , you agree with everythin' ever done in the whole world in the _name of socialism_?"

"It's different."

"How?"

"Because morally and philosophically —" he sees Kes rolls his eyes, but keeps going. "Socialism _is not_ about the subjugation of vulnerable people."

"And I'm signing up to subjugate innocent people, huh?"

"That's not— you'd be _complicit_ , Kes. You'd be aiding and abetting institutions that—"

Kes sighs, exhausted. "I gotta go to college, man."

“No you don't," Cassian says, too quickly.

"No? What d'you want me to do, Cass? Stay here and work at the garage my whole life?"

"It's good work," Cassian says, because it is: honest, necessary. Minimal risk of getting shot or blown up or furthering American imperialism.

Kes snorts. "Yeah? You ever done it?"

"Kes—"

"You ever work a day in your goddamn life, Andor? You ever plan to, between mouthin' off to teachers and goin' to whatever fancy college your grandparents're gonna pay for? And what're you gonna do after that? You gonna work in a _garage_?"

"Kes—"

"Like you have the goddamn _right_ to tell me what I should—"

"I'm sorry."

Kes deflates, and leans back. "Yeah," he says, ducking his head again. "Yeah, so am I."

“Kes. I..." Cassian crawls closer again. "I really am sorry. I didn't mean to..." _Presume. Upset you. Push you away._ "I didn't _think_..."

"Well, there's a change," says Kes, wrapping a hand around his wrist and giving him a gentle tug. Cassian crawls closer, settling back against Kes's chest, between his legs.

"What?" he says, as Kes sighs against his neck.

"You always think too much."

“ _No que te gusta_?" he says, managing to conceal most of his insecurity in an old joke.

Kes chuckles — warm and fond, vibrating through them both. "I do," he says, low. “I do like it." He kisses Cassian's cheek.

They sit together. The stars blink above them. The air cools, and Cassian can't help but lean back, into Kes's steady warmth. Kes's arms around his waist tighten.

"You're right, you know?" Kes says.

"Hm?"

"I mean, you — everything you said is true. The military's done bad things. The country's a mess. But there's — good things too. They've done good things too. Fighting Nazis and shit, and...My family's been safe here. I was safe here. I know you hate it —"

"I don't—"

"I know you miss home, and this ain't what you're used to, but it's — this _is_ home, to me. And if I don't at least try and make things better — for me, for my sisters, my family, people like us, you an' me, then — who else will, you know?"

"I know," he says, though what he knows even better is: noble hearts in corrupt worlds invite nothing so much as tragedy. His parents were the first lesson he had in that fundamental truth, but far from the only one.

"You really think..." Kes's voice softens, shaded with doubt and fear, needing the kind of reassurance he's usually the one to provide, and not just to Cassian. "You really think I'll be able to? Make a difference?" 

"If anyone could," he says, half turning in Kes's arms to be able to meet his eyes, or at the very least his mouth. “It would be you."

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of the prequel to something else I may never write -- another high school au thing basically -- but yeah, that happened.


End file.
